Chapter 287 — Bridge Maintenance

CHAPTER 287

Bridge Maintenance

“Hold the board straight,” Lin Langtian said.

“It is straight, Senior Brother Lin,” Zhu Liu said. He was standing on a barrel at the foot of the Ironwood Bridge, hugging a plank as wide as himself. The plank was six feet long and still smelled of fresh paint.

“Then the bridge is crooked,” Lin Langtian said, and swung his hammer.

Shi Feng stood a few steps away with a bag of nails. It was a cold, bright morning. Below the bridge the river ran grey and fast with the autumn rains, and on the far bank the old road climbed into the pines. The Ironwood Bridge was the only crossing for eighty li in either direction. It was old, dark and plain, and it belonged to Artificer Hall.

“Why is it my job to carry nails?” Shi Feng asked.

“Because you'll need to know where we keep them,” Lin Langtian said. “Lesson fourteen, Junior Brother. A man who owns the bridge owns the road.”

“We don't own the road,” Shi Feng said.

“The wagons still have to cross our bridge,” Lin Langtian said, driving in the last nail. “Call it what you like. This road was opened by me, these trees were planted by me; if you want to pass, leave your toll. Now read the board aloud. I want to hear how it sounds.”

Zhu Liu read it, with a wavering voice.

“'Ironwood Bridge. Maintenance Contribution. Eighty spirit stones per wagon, per crossing. Paid at the gate. By order of the Sect Master's seal.'” He swallowed. “Senior Brother Lin, there's a seal on it.”

“Of course there's a seal,” Lin Langtian said.

“Is it the Sect Master's real seal?” Zhu Liu said.

“It's Qian Mo's seal,” Lin Langtian said. “I borrowed it from his drawer last night. He doesn't know yet. Don't mention it.”

“Should I write that on the receipt?” Zhu Liu said.

“Zhu Liu,” Lin Langtian said.

“Yes, Senior Brother Lin?”

“Write nothing,” Lin Langtian said.

Sima Lan had been sitting on a stone beside the road with a ledger on her knee. She looked at the figure on the board, and then at Shi Feng.

“Eighty,” Sima Lan said. “Per wagon.”

“I noticed,” Shi Feng said.

“It's the same figure Martial Palace charged us at the border for 'inspection.' I assume that's deliberate,” Sima Lan said.

“Why invent a rate when theirs is ready?” Lin Langtian said. “They’ll dislike paying us, but they can hardly claim eighty is unfair. Their own clerk set it.”

“And the treaty?” Sima Lan asked.

“Ah. The treaty.” Lin Langtian turned and bellowed up the road. “Gongsun Ce! Bring the paper!”

Gongsun Ce was coming down the slope, a rolled scroll under one arm and a small wooden puppet walking at his heel. It was the size of a cat. It carried an inkstone. Shi Feng had given up asking about Gongsun Ce's puppets weeks ago.

“This prince has read it three times,” Gongsun Ce said. He unrolled the scroll on the stone beside Sima Lan. “The Mutual Passage Accord. Signed by Martial Palace, Hundred Flower Valley and Artificer Hall in the time of the previous sect master's father. Article six: the wagons of any of the three sects shall cross the territory of the others without tolls, duties, levies or customs of any kind.”

“Any kind,” Zhu Liu repeated, and went pale. “That's very thorough.”

“It's the most thorough article in the treaty,” Gongsun Ce said. “The signers were afraid of each other.”

“Does it say anything about maintenance?” Shi Feng asked.

“No,” Gongsun Ce said.

“Repairs?” Shi Feng said.

“No,” Gongsun Ce said.

“Bridges?” Shi Feng said.

“Not one bridge,” Gongsun Ce said, rolling the scroll up. “Roads, ferries, passes, mountains. They listed everything they were worried about and left out the thing we’re standing on. That’s a gap we can use. Even the wisest man, in a thousand schemes, makes one slip.”

“A hole,” Lin Langtian said, glowing. “A beautiful hole. A man could drive nine wagons through it, and pay at the gate.”

Shi Feng thought, So that is what the notice meant.

The road notice announced nine wagons of Thunder-Marrow from Rumbling Ridge to Martial Palace’s foundry. They would cross under the Accord ‘in the spirit of friendship between sects.’ Shi Feng remembered the confident wording. The sender hadn’t expected anyone to delay them.

Lin Langtian had read it once and smiled all afternoon.

Thunder-Marrow ore was the first thing on the shopping list. It was rare, it was heavy, and it cost more than the whole sect owned. Shi Feng had spent weeks looking for a way to buy it. Lin Langtian had spent three days looking for a way to borrow it.

“Junior Brother,” Lin Langtian said. “Why are you looking at the bridge like that?”

“I'm trying to see what's wrong with it,” Shi Feng said.

“Nothing's wrong with it. It's very sturdy,” Lin Langtian said.

“Then I don't know what I'm supposed to say,” Shi Feng said.

“Don't worry,” Lin Langtian said, clapping his shoulder. “I'll tell you.”

Far down the road, dust rose over the pines.

Zhu Liu saw it first. He climbed down off his barrel too fast, tripped over the paint pot, and sat down in the grey road with the board on his lap.

“Senior Brother Lin,” Zhu Liu said in a small voice. “They're early.”

Nine black wagons came out of the trees one after another, each pulled by four iron-hided oxen. Blue lightning crawled over their lead-lined tarps with a dry crackle. At the head rode a broad man in Martial Palace's red-and-black, a long sabre across his saddle and a roll of paper in his fist.

Lin Langtian straightened his robe, removed the potato from his sleeve, and put on the face of a very honest bridge keeper.

“Zang Ming,” Gongsun Ce murmured. “Convoy captain. Peak Foundation Establishment.”

“Good,” Lin Langtian whispered. “I was afraid they'd send someone clever.”